Friendly Fire
by Witchiepooh
Summary: Years after Voldemort's downfall, Hermione and Draco still insult each other, but things have changed. A fluffy bit of crackfic featuring drunken debauchery, transgendered wizards, and Freudian dreams.
1. Friendly Fire

Disclaimer: Nope, I don't own Harry Potter or any of these characters  
A/N: Thanks to Chanteur-Dombre who has beta read this for me. :)  
Summary: Years after Voldemort's downfall, our fearless heroes and former enemies only know one way to interact: insults insults insults

I can barely hear the buzz of the telly over Ron's foul-mouthed tirade as I enter the flat. While an irate wizard loudly spewing profanities might give others pause, I can tell without looking that the victim of his onslaught isn't made of flesh. It's the gleaming box in front of him.

"I take it the Cannons are losing?"

Ron ignores my question and continues his verbal lashing of the screen. "Bleeding idiots! This isn't a holiday you wankers, it's the bloody semis!"

"You know Ronald, this may be hard to believe for one who's been surrounded by magic his entire life, but they can't actually hear you through the television. That's not how it works," I explain in an admittedly condescending tone.

He looks like he wants to redirect his ire at me, but my expression must be more challenging than I realize because he turns to the set again and just groans, pulling at his hair.

The door to the flat shuts loudly as another guest makes his presence known.

"Ah, nothing like a relaxing afternoon watching Quidditch… like a day at the spa," notes Malfoy as he saunters into the room carrying a six-pack and some crisps. He puts down the goodies, grabs a beer and dutifully brings it over to Ron. The redhead grunts and grabs the beverage without thanking his benefactor. Malfoy coos, "Now Ronniekins, didn't I tell you not to watch the Cannons without a sedative?

"Bugger off."

"Good to see you too," he says cheerfully. "Like I said, nothing like kicking back with my mates to enjoy the thrills and chills of a well-fought Quidditch match."

I laugh to myself, still amazed at how the insults between Malfoy and Ron evolved from antagonism to affection. It wasn't a smooth transition. It began during what would have been our 7th year at Hogwarts, after Malfoy failed in his mission to personally kill Dumbledore. While none of his hate, aggression and racism had dispersed at the time, the realization that, despite those not-so-favourable qualities, he was not a killer, sent the young Slytherin into a crisis of conscience (in other words, he actually possessed one) that got him summarily ejected from the world of the Death Eaters.

But even with his newly found scruples, he was not fully accepted by the Order of the Phoenix and those fighting to defeat Voldemort. He didn't take any grand stand to prove his worthiness to me, or Harry or Ron. He was simply a terrified child with no place to go. Given the choices (Death, by the aforementioned Eaters, or life with Harry), he took the lesser of two evils and the Order grudgingly took him and his mother into "custody" (a virtual house arrest) - their protection in exchange for information.

I would like to think that Malfoy became a better person because he made a deliberate choice to do so. But it wasn't that he changed, the world did. In the end, pureblood fanaticism didn't lead to world domination; it lead to extinction and Malfoy and his mother were bright enough to recognize this. They were surrounded by us (though never trusted to be actively involved until the bitter end when they acquitted themselves bravely) during the war and no matter how they felt inside, the reality was overpowering. Even to this day, Malfoy will scowl at mention of Harry's do-good-can-do attitude and our unfathomable capacity for forgiveness, but he knows it's what saved him in the end. Allowed him to become the person he was supposed to be, not the puppet his father had created, once his world broke down. It took years to get to that point and now in his mid-30s, he was more or less there.

That's not to say we didn't all still have some issues or old resentments. Childhood scars run deep. But as adults, we recognized the importance of second chances (and even third and fourth ones). I confess that Malfoy became my pet cause after the war. Even as he continued to insult me (and still does, because that's just the makeup of our relationship, much the same as he is with Ron and Harry) I would not give up in my belief that 99 percent of Malfoy's behaviour was an act. It made it harder that he didn't realize he was performing (at least not on a conscious level), but I persisted and worked at him like a sledgehammer trying to unearth his wounded soul. The resentment he felt towards me (and the others) for essentially saving that soul had gradually turned into respect. And again, he didn't really have a choice.

"Granger, I see you've Quidditch-proofed your mop today so we can actually see the game," Malfoy's voice drags me out of my reverie on the past. "How considerate."

"Malfoy, you may want to try that with your mouth one of these days," I snap back. Some things never change.

"If you're implying I need to Quidditch-proof my mouth I think you're confusing me with Weasley," he laughs. "But really, can't you take a compliment?"

I narrow my eyes at him. "There's a fine line between your praise and a put-down..."

"And between love and hate," he finishes. "Nevertheless, if I said 'Granger, you're looking right sexy' you wouldn't listen. You're deaf to compliments unless they come gift-wrapped in cutting remarks."

I pause for a moment to consider this, realizing that he's probably right. Not that I'll admit it.

"Don't blame me for your lack of civility."

"Yeah, well don't blame me for your lack of quality hair products!"

"Given the fact that you just _complimented_ me for taming my mop as you so eloquently put it, that hardly makes sense, Malfoy."

"Will you two take your foreplay to the kitchen, I'm trying to watch the match here," Ron is trying to sound angry, but I can tell he's suppressing a laugh. Well at least he's not verbally attacking an inanimate object anymore.

I feel the heat rising to my face. Not because there is any truth to Ron's quip, but just the idea behind it. I shudder. Malfoy watches my reaction, putting his hand to his heart in a gesture of mock hurt. He turns to Ron, "Just because your lusting after Oliver Wood on his broom doesn't mean you can transfer your sexual frustrations to me, Weasley."

"Play nice, kids," interjects Harry, who has appeared out of nowhere, though I'm guessing he walked through the front door while we were arguing.

Malfoy turns his attention to the new arrival. "Tell me, Potter, have you ever known Granger to graciously accept a compliment that wasn't directed at the wonders of her frontal lobe?"

Harry chuckles, but then looks earnest as he really considers the question. "I think it depends who it's coming from. Now if a certain person, who shall remain nameless, acts like a 12-year-old when he spews his, uh 'constructive compliments' then I'm not too surprised that Hermione rejects that sort of praise. However, when I say to her, 'why Hermione, you look lovely today, and that's quite a nice frock you're wearing,' she's no doubt flattered by my disarming boyish charm," he finishes with a wink toward me.

Malfoy looks thoughtful before he asks, "Spew? As if I'd ever support her psychotic notions on Elfish Welfare."

"Clever," I say, rolling my eyes in the most obvious manner possible. "I didn't see that one coming."

"Your hair probably got in the way."

I scoff, "Give up, ferret, you're weak."

"And you love me anyway," he grins as he says it. I know he doesn't mean "love" in the romantic "let's go shag and have ten babies" sense (horrid thought that), but in the "you know we're friends regardless of the crap we say to one another" way.

And I feel really warm all of a sudden. Not in an embarrassed girlish way because I have some kind of crush on Draco Malfoy, but because I know it's true. I really do love him. As a friend.


	2. The Toast

Disclaimer: Nope, I don't own Harry Potter or any of these characters  
A/N: Thanks to Chanteur-Dombre who has begun to beta read this for me. :)  
Summary: Draco and Hermione share a toast.

Hermione watched as Draco approached her from across the room. Somehow he managed to move gracefully through the crowd of drunken revellers. She was struck by the contrast between his suave, composed appearance and the chaos surrounding him. He was on a mission: one hand held their beers while the other deftly parted the sea of bodies.

The path between them was littered not only with the sloppy fallout of inebriation, but giddy witches with coy smiles here, batting eyelashes there. Being a shameless flirt, Draco couldn't help but respond with a wink or a sexy smirk. As she observed this Hermione felt a pang of... something. Before she had a chance to give it more than passing consideration, he had reached her.

He smiled, handing her one of the two beers.

"Here you go, luv." He said the last word with a teasing, familiar ease, one Hermione recognized as friendly affection; not _Love_ with a capital L or even spelled that way.

Hermione returned his smile. "Thanks, Malfoy." 

The space between them was close enough to hear each other over the thud of music, far enough to say to anyone watching, "Just mates!" Hermione had momentarily turned her gaze to survey the room once more. He observed her with a curious glint in his slate-grey eyes.

"So, what should we toast to?" 

She thought for a long moment then practically whispered, "How about we toast to my living up to that little challenge we had?"

For a moment, Draco's face was confused. But then he noticed the flush in Hermione's cheeks and he remembered. Unexpectedly, he felt a sudden emptiness at her subtly implied revelation. He stammered, "You...what? When?"

"Last Tuesday. We were both working late and it just...happened." She rushed the words all at once, wondering if the admission was a mistake. "It was rather bizarre."

"Bizarre?" 

"Well," she said, looking at her hands, and starting to nervously peel the label off the beer. "I know when we made our 'agreement' I was supposed to seduce him. But as it turned out I didn't have to. He told me he'd been biding his time, waiting for the right moment to tell me how he felt."

"And how does he feel?" Draco tried very, very hard to sound somewhere between casual (because of course it was Hermione's business, so he didn't really care who she was with), and enthusiastic (because of course it was his duty as her friend to be happy for her). He squelched the contempt that was bubbling from deep inside, swallowing the bile in his throat.

Hermione sighed ever so slightly. "Says he fancies me."

Draco stared down at her hands, watching as they continued to strip the bottle. Hermione had surprised him in the past, with the depth of her compassion, her intelligence and her ability to accept him despite his flaws. But when it came to how he saw her, on a sexual or deeper emotional level, he didn't think anything could stir him. Sure their relationship was _complicated_, but it was a complex friendship, period. There weren't supposed to be pangs of... something else. 

The "challenge" she'd referred to related to Alex Triblehorn, a mediwizard she worked with at St. Mungo's who she had a terrible crush on. Draco had teased her mercilessly about it, daring her to make a move on the man. Hermione was not an aggressive woman - at least, not when it came to her sexuality. Draco never imagined she would go for Triblehorn. He'd been correct in that assumption. But he hadn't bargained on Triblehorn making a move. More than that, he never in his wildest dreams thought it would make him feel... bad.

He pushed that thought away and looked up again, hoisting his beer in the air.

"Well, then. To your new... conquest."

Hermione raised her bottle, but not her eyes. 

"Yes, cheers," she said half-heartedly, barely grazing the neck of her bottle against the bottom of his, her awkwardness apparent.

"Granger," Draco chided. "You have to look a person in the eye when you toast. Try again."

She lifted her eyes slowly, hesitant at what she would see in his face, or maybe just worried about what she would reveal. His shiny amber-coloured bottle was poised in the air. Hers moved once again, but this time as the bottles met - with a full-on clink that would make an Irishman proud - their eyes locked and something inexplicably shifted between them.

"To my conquest," she said, smoothly.

"Cheers," Draco said, his mouth dry and his voice low. It dawned on him suddenly: it wasn't Triblehorn she was referring to with the toast.


	3. Wizards Will be Wizards

Disclaimer: Nope, I don't own Harry Potter or any of these characters. I don't own Seinfeld either, which I borrow from...not that there's anything wrong with that.  
Summary: Draco stresses over Hermione's new boyfriend.

A/N: This chapter has now been beta read by the lovely **chanteur dombre**.

* * *

It was boys' night out.

And what, you may ask, did it consist of? Manly bonding over poker? Perhaps a trip to Wizzie's Strip tease? Doin' shots of firewhiskey? Tales of macho derring-do? Comparing wands?

You'd think so, right? Wrong.

In actuality, "boys night out" for Draco, Ron and Harry was like a knitting circle. A very manly, wizards will be wizards, knitting circle but nevertheless, all they needed were some needles and the three were indistinguishable from a group of chatty, gossipy witches. Maybe worse.

They would get together every Thursday night-typically joined by a rotating list of "wizard guest stars" that included Fred and George (always as a pair, naturally), Neville, Crabbe and Goyle (also a pair, but not in that way and not that there's anything wrong with that), and of course the toughest of the bunch, the former Millicent Bulstrode, now known as 'Mitchell' Bulstrode and invaluable due to "his" unique perspective on both the male and female psyche.

Because, when it came down to it, what the boys discussed were women. Oh sure, they did it while drinkin', swearin' and grabbin' their crotches a lot (especially 'Mitchell,' who was still amazed that he actually had something to grab), but still it was a regular girls slumber party-minus the painting nails and doing each other's make-up (though, to be honest, Crabbe wouldn't have complained).

On this particular Thursday evening, the boys were shooting pool, listening suspiciously as Draco went on and on about how there was "something dodgy, I tell you" about Hermione's recently acquired boyfriend, Alex Triblehorn.

"I mean the guy is just so, so..."

"Nice? Sensitive? Good looking?" offered Harry.

Draco groaned. "That's what I mean."

"You're right, he's bloody awful," said Ron sarcastically. "We'd better warn Hermione."

"What I mean, Weasley, is that he's too good to be true." It was clear from his tone that Draco was losing patience. "Did you know he's actually started a clothing drive at St. Mungo's for house elves?"

'Mitchell', who was doing a shot of firewhiskey, choked on it as he cracked up. "Now if that doesn't soak Granger's knickers, I don't know what will."

"Fuck off, Millicent," Draco snapped.

"It's 'Mitchell', you bloody prat," he said in calm voice. "And aren't you just a little bit too concerned about who Granger is seeing? As I seem to recall, you're the one who dared her to make a go with the bloke in the first place."

"Don't remind me," he said under his breath. "Look, I know he seems like Granger's 'Mr. Perfect' on the surface. But that's why I'm concerned, as all of her friends should be." He faced Harry and Ron as he said the last bit. "Don't you think it's a little odd that he would be sooooooo interested in every single bloody thing that's important to her?"

Both looked sceptical. Draco continued, "The problem with you bloody Gryffindors is that you're too naive and trusting. You're thinking, 'well he fancies her, so of course he's going to do things to please her.' But would either of you go that far for a witch?"

"I would and I have, for Ginny," responded Harry without giving it a second thought.

Draco sighed. "Well of course you have, you're Harry Fucking Potter. What about you, Weasley? You can't honestly tell me that you'd ever become a bloody house elf activist for a witch unless you knew it would get you in her knickers."

"You know," 'Mitchell' interrupted. "If Triblehorn is doing this to get into her knickers there's really no point, since he already has."

Draco went pale. Okay, he went paler. "She told you that?"

"Of course," he replied. "Girls night out."

"Bloody hell," said Ron (because frankly, nobody says 'bloody hell' like Ron). "You get to do 'girls night out' too?"

"Old habits die hard," 'Mitchell' shrugged. "Anyway, Malfoy, he may be sickeningly earnest like Granger, but I don't think Triblehorn is pulling one over on her. I think he's genuinely smitten."

Draco was speechless. Since that night out with Hermione almost a month ago, he'd decided to play "good mate, big brother" to her, trying on the surface to be supportive while seething (and complaining) about Triblehorn to Harry, Ron and anyone else who would listen (including the occasional house elf, his mum, Tom at the Leaky Cauldron and random strangers on the street). It never occurred to him that she would be intimate with the wizard. He wasn't an idiot; he knew it was possible. Hermione was a grown woman. But he put it in the furthest reaches of his mind because he'd gone so long thinking of her as "just his mate" and as such she didn't gasp have sex. He assumed-because it had taken so long for him to realize it-that no other man would notice that she was a woman and a rather fetching one at that.

"I need another drink," he finally said, and proceeded to angrily head up to the bar, nearly knocking over Fred and George (who were just arriving) as he stormed by.

"I see Malfoy's his usual ray o' sunshine," quipped Fred.

"Aye, like a breath o' fresh air," offered George.

"Must've missed his daily dose of torturing a nice fluffy animal," said Fred.

"Or a subordinate," noted George.

"A fluffy subordinate?" pondered Fred.

The others stared dumbly at the twins for a moment, and then realized whom they were dealing with. Ron blurted out, "Hermione shagged."

"Malfoy?" asked George.

"It's about bloody time," said Fred.

"Not with Malfoy, with her boyfriend," said Harry.

"Malfoy's not her boyfriend?" questioned both at the same time, because at some point they had to say the same exact thing, at the same time.

"Not yet," observed 'Mitchell'.

"Yep, he's done," said Harry.

"Stick a fork in him," added Ron.

"Do you think Hermione has any idea?" wondered Harry.

"Oh, Granger's a smart bird," said 'Mitchell' with a gleam in his eye and a secret smile on his face. Then the he once known as she quietly muttered to himself, "with a bit more Slytherin in her than any of you daft blokes realize."


	4. The Daiquiri Dialogues

Disclaimer: Nope, I don't own Harry Potter or any of these characters.  
Summary: Hermione's plan is working...

A/N: This chapter has now been beta read by the lovely **chanteur dombre**.

* * *

"You told them what?" Hermione was glaring at the wom-manly face of Mitchell/Millicent Bulstrode. The strawberry daiquiri she'd been drinking was now all over her hands, the table and her lap.

He took a puff on a cigar, "You heard me Granger."

"But...but...why?" She attempted to run her fingers through her hair, but naturally they got caught--both in her curls and from the sticky mess of the fruity beverage she'd spilled.

He proceeded to take a dainty sip from his daiquiri (the odd juxtaposition of cigar and girlie drink would have caught Hermione's attention if she wasn't so flabbergasted over what good ol' Mitch was telling her). "Draco was being phenomenally bitchy, even for him. Kept going on about how Tribledick..."

"Triblehorn," Hermione corrected.

"Right. How...Triblehorny...was acting all gallant to get in your knickers. So I simply told him it was as they say a 'moot point' since that Triblefucker had already bonked you," he finished with a grin.

Hermione put her head in her hands, stifling what would have been a shrill, perhaps glass-shattering scream. Unfortunately, her more than usual alcohol consumption, along with her still sticky fingers, did not make the most prudent combination. When she went to lift her head and remove her hands abruptly, the hair stuck and the aforementioned shrill, so high-pitched-the-canines-could-hear-it scream pierced through the pub. "Oh, fuuuuuuuuuuuck!" Tears were in her eyes and hair was still solidly glued to her now outstretched hands.

Mitchell nearly fell out of his chair laughing at the sight. "Merlin, Granger. If you start saying 'Bubble, bubble toil and trouble' I'll piss myself."

She narrowed her eyes. "Shove it! I know you paid a pretty amount of galleons for your little...toy. It would be a real shame to lose it."

That sobered him up quickly. He stood up and carefully helped Hermione remove her hands from the bushy jungle of curls. "Ever consider just shaving all of this off? Mother of Morgan le Fay!"

Hermione pushed him away, "Ack, that's enough. How is it possible that you've become more of a drama queen with a prick?"

"I had a sex change, Granger, not a lobotomy. And for your information," he huffed, "it is not little!"

She was exasperated. "Fine, just fine."

At that moment Ginny Weasley arrived with Pansy Parkinson. The two were co-workers at the Ministry of Magic and had developed, if not a close friendship, a tolerance for each other. Hermione and Pansy also managed to be friends of convenience, primarily for Mitchell's sake, since he had become one of Hermione's closest "girlfriends" since their school days and because Pansy was, literally, his girlfriend. (This last fact was the subject of some very colourful conversations among the wizards who held no small amount of confusion over whether or not to consider Pansy and Mitchell a 'hot lesbian couple' or 'sick as fuck'.)

Hermione was relieved to see the other two women. Until Ginny spoke, "So, Harry told me Alex shagged you rotten."

"He did no such thing!" She looked accusingly at Mitchell, "See what you started?"

Mitchell replied defensively, "You wanted to get Malfoy to notice you have boobies, stop complaining."

"And your devious little ploy is working," added Pansy. "I never thought I'd say this Granger, but I'm proud of you. You've got poor Drakey-Poo so tied up in knots I almost feel bad for him." She giggled. "But not quite."

"You're so evil." Mitchell nuzzled Pansy's neck.

"Ahem." Hermione very obviously cleared her throat. "While the idea was to get Malfoy's attention, perhaps get him a tad jealous, it didn't include telling him I shagged another wizard!"

"Pish, posh! That's just a _minor_ detail," said Pansy. "The important thing is the plan is working."

"It's true," said Ginny. "Harry told me Malfoy's been more of a prat than usual. If that's possible."

"But I just didn't expect it to go so far. And what about Alex? He agreed to go along with making Malfoy think we were seeing each other, not shagging. What if Malfoy does something...rash?"

Mitchell chuckled, "You do realize, Granger, that Triblehorny actually does fancy you?"

"No he doesn't!"

"Have it your way," he said. "It matters not. Malfoy has taken the bait and now you have to reel him in."

"Merlin," she breathed deeply, "I feel so...dirty."

"Yes, actually Granger," Pansy leaned toward Hermione and plucked a strawberry from her still dishevelled hair. "That's because you're a bloody mess."


	5. The Dream

Disclaimer: Nope, I don't own Harry Potter or any of these characters.  
Summary: Draco has a dream...

A/N: This chapter has now been beta read by the lovely **chanteur dombre**.

* * *

He was wearing form-fitting black leather trousers. He wasn't sure why exactly, except that all those sexy bitches who write fan fiction seemed to like him in leather. And who was he to deny them the pleasure of ogling his "assets" in tight, shiny hide? Draco was more than happy to oblige.

In any case, poured into his leather pants and wearing a tight fitting black jersey (and a very intense, some would say sexy expression from sucking in his slight - very slight - beer gut), Draco prowled through the darkness. There was a light up in the distance and he could hear the low din of a far off crowd.

As he moved closer to the beacon, the noise grew louder. There were voices, but even more pronounced was a pounding that echoed through the long passageway. With each step, the cacophony of sound - people shouting and feet stomping - continued to rise until it was deafening. It reached its crescendo just as Draco stepped out into the light. And then, as if every droplet of sound had been instantly sucked into a vacuum, it was gone.

If the ground hadn't been shaking only moments before with the ear-piercing chorus, Draco might have thought he was completely alone. But, he could see - very dimly - that the crowd was still there, surrounding the circular arena where he now stood on the edge.

The entire area was bathed in darkness except for two bright spotlights - one on Draco, the other on what looked like a cage, draped in black, at the centre of the enclosure.

He felt his heart stop as a low, rumbling and non-human noise - no, growl - came from inside.

Draco began to move slowly toward it, his feet heavy. There was suddenly a scraping sound on the ground next to him and he stopped in surprise when he realized he held a long leather whip, its end dragging in the dirt. "Where in bloody hell did that come from," he wondered.

When he was just a few feet from the cage, the dark cloth that covered it was swiftly lifted, revealing the magnificent creature inside.

While Draco felt he _should_ be surprised to find himself staring into the large, liquid henna eyes of an enormous lion, for some reason he didn't actually feel at all astounded.

The lion, its long majestic mane like a gorgeous golden halo, gave a powerful roar that made the cage around it quake.

Draco nodded. It was a challenge. For some unknown reason, he was moving closer, steeling himself to go inside. He wasn't afraid. Instead, he felt oddly compelled.

As he finally entered the pen, he noticed there was something familiar about the great beast now that he was near by. Its mane was beautiful, yes, but also a bit…bushy.

"Wait. Just. A. Minute." He stalled in his tracks, only a few meters from the majestic feline. Awareness struck him like a tidal wave and while he still felt drawn to it, fear gripped him.

In place of what he'd thought was a lion moments before now sat the supine form of Hermione Granger, her hair wild and (Draco laughed inwardly at the thought) "untamed." She was clad in a very snug body suit that was the same hue as the lion's fur.

Rather than thinking it was very strange to find Granger in a cage, looking as if she wanted to eat him alive, Draco was decidedly turned on. He took in a very shallow breath.

"Draco," she purred.

For a moment he was transfixed by the sultry sound of his given name dripping from her luscious lips. But then he thought about it for a beat and realized something was dodgy. While he still burned with desire from head to toe, he was able to step back from that sensation.

"Of course," he said out loud. "This is obviously a dream."

She seemed taken aback, but tried to keep him under her spell. "What makes you say that, Dray-co?"

"Because," he explained, "it is way too early in this fanfic for you to be using my first name. That shouldn't happen until at least part sixteen, when you finally realize you've been in love with me since that first time I called you a 'filthy little mudblood,' back in second year."

"Oh." What else could she say to that? She furrowed her brow and bit her lip (it was amazing she hadn't bitten it off after so many years of lip-biting anxiousness). "So, the fact that I was a male lion not a minute ago didn't give it away? It was saying your name?"

"Come to think of it, I suppose that was also a dead giveaway," he reasoned. "Not to mention these naff trousers, since I'm allergic to leather products."

Hermione got up, abandoning her come hither posture. "So, we've established you're dreaming, but what does it mean?"

"Well the lion part is rather obvious. Gryffindor, messy hair, you needing to be tamed."

She raised an eyebrow, "You think I need to be tamed."

"That out of control hair of yours certainly does."

"Sod off," her lips were on the verge of a smile despite the words. "You may be able to push me away with insults when you're awake, but this is your subconscious talking, your hidden desires. It won't work, Malfoy."

He grimaced. "Bloody hell, you're even a bossy bint in my dreams."

"Maybe I am," she conceded. "But you want me."

All at once the emotions he'd been feeling during his waking hours--the inexplicable distrust and anger over Triblehorn, that feeling of loss, the numbness when he looked at other women even as just a glance at Granger stirred something so deep--hit him like a freight train. It had been a hazy mixture of suppressed longing that in that moment came sharply into focus.

He wanted Granger. It could be that it was the barmiest notion he'd ever had in his mostly regrettable life. Yet he knew instinctively that the moment he awoke the desire, the compulsion, would still be present.

"I'm seriously fucked."

"We both are," agreed dream Hermione.


	6. Analyze Witch

Disclaimer: Nope, I don't own Harry Potter or any of these characters.  
Summary: Hermione works through some of her feelings.

A/N: Thanks to **chanteur dombre** for the beta read!

* * *

"Don't judge me," Hermione said defensively. 

She was sitting on a cosy charmed couch in the office of Mental-mediwizard Art Friedman who was her "life coach" (a.k.a. the man standing between her and a chasm that plunged off into barking mad). His face as he watched her was open, without bias.

"You should know I wouldn't do that. If you are feeling judged, it's more likely the culprit is in the mirror."

"The mirror in my flat could care less about my psychological well-being, it's busy picking apart my clothes and my hair," Hermione said in a frustrated tone.

"Amusing...I was being figurative though," Dr. Friedman explained.

She resisted the urge to roll her eyes and instead nodded in acquiescence. "I know I'm deceiving him, but I didn't honestly set out to do so in the first place."

"What did you set out to do," he asked.

"When I told Malfoy about Alex's play for me, I suppose I was trying to gage his reaction to the news. I didn't explicitly tell him and he didn't ask whether or not I'd accepted Alex's advances. It was just assumed. And when I saw how the news affected Malfoy, I didn't bother to correct that assumption. I'm an honest person, but something inside me screamed: 'this is your chance.'" She paused, absently twirling a finger through one of her curls.

Dr. Friedman gave her a moment then urged her on with his eyes.

She continued. "I never really had a 'plan' as Pansy and Mitchell crudely inferred. All I knew was that Malfoy had never looked at me like…that…until he thought another wizard wanted me. Right or wrong, I could not let go of that look in his eyes. Not just because it was Malfoy, but because the truth is, nobody has ever looked at me like that."

"What about Mr. Triblehorn, why did you turn him down? I thought you were interested."

"I was," she blushed. "He's actually lovely and I thought I really wanted him."

"And?"

"When presented with the opportunity of getting him I realized I wanted someone else," she put her head down. "Bet you can guess who."

"So why didn't you tell Mr. Malfoy that you'd turned down another man because of him?"

"I didn't trust it," Hermione admitted.

"Didn't trust your own feelings, or Mr. Malfoy's?"

"Mine...his...I guess both." Her hair was now coiled tightly around one finger and she was pulling it taut. "It's just that Malfoy and I have this really difficult past."

"Yes, I know," he said sympathetically. "But it is in the past. We're talking about your present. And future."

Hermione stared off at a spot on the hideous paisley carpet on the floor, lost in her thoughts for a moment. She had spent many hours in therapy, discussing Draco Malfoy. She wondered if Dr. Friedman suspected her feelings for the blond had developed and grown stronger even before she'd admitted them.

"Do we need to pull out the Pensieve again and work through this?"

"There's no need to swim around in memories of my volatile history with Malfoy." In fact she shuddered at the thought. She preferred the Muggle way of dealing with the past versus having to relive it through a Pensieve. "He was just a spoiled little prat in school, believing what he was taught because that's all he knew."

"That's a matter of discussion between Mr. Malfoy and his Mental-mediwizard," he said in a matter-of-fact manner. "What's more important for you to consider is whether your feelings are based on being his saviour, which you've alluded to."

She looked serious and said, "I didn't save him, but I did support him when he made the choice to save himself. I don't think I'm afraid of what he was anymore. I think maybe I'm just scared that I'm drawn to him because it's so improbable."

"Like with Mr. Potter?"

Hermione always felt like she'd been hit in the gut when she recalled her feelings for Harry, even though they'd been strictly platonic for years. And he'd never known. "I've just always had a habit of wanting what I can't have. Or turning down wizards that actually wanted me, like Alex - and Ron, when I was younger. I mean, one of the main reasons Ron and I ever got involved was because I was jealous. When I didn't think he wanted me I was game. Once it was clear that he was mine all along I cut him loose."

"Do you worry that jealousy is the only motivation for Mr. Malfoy now?"

"I don't know," she answered truthfully. "When I look at him and then at myself, I wonder why he'd want me."

He gave her a warm smile. "Why wouldn't he want you?"

"I'm difficult," she groaned. "I'm not exactly a wizard's wet dream."

"Ms. Granger, I must say that you don't give yourself enough credit. Mr. Malfoy is likely asking himself why you would want him." He looked her sternly in the eye and continued, "You're an exceptional witch. Perhaps it isn't every wizard or man that will recognize or appreciate you, but it isn't about attracting everyone, just the right one."

She snorted with laughter, "Dr. Friedman, did you just rent "Good Will Hunting" or something like that? You sound like one of those cinema shrinks."

He looked confused for a moment. "That's a Muggle reference?"

"Yes, never mind."

"I know you're just trying to deflect from the issue," he stated. "Mr. Malfoy was right about you."

"What do you mean?"

"You don't know how to take a compliment."

"But Malfoy doesn't compliment me, he insults me," she insisted.

"And that's how _he_ deflects the issue," he said. "But the two of you can't run circles around each other forever."

"I guess not," she said weakly. "But we're so good at it."

"You want my advice?"

Hermione just laughed.

"Ah right, that's why you come here," he said. "Well Ms. Granger, you have to make your own choices, I can only give you a nudge now and then. I can't make you take this chance, but perhaps it's worth finding out whether your circles with Mr. Malfoy can meet? Perhaps it's time to be honest with yourself and with him."

"Argh, you make it sound easy." She looked at him, pleading, "I don't get it. With magic we can do all these amazing things and yet when it comes to love we're as helpless as Muggles." She quickly turned away from Dr. Friedman when she realized exactly what she'd just said. Love? She'd prefer a good hex.

"Yes well, love is one of the few bits of magic that Muggles experience." He seemed wistful. "And as I'm sure your friend Mr. Potter can tell you, it is more powerful than any other - and maybe that's why it's so difficult to understand or control. Doesn't mean you shouldn't try, though."

She sighed. "I guess I better break up with my fake boyfriend."

"That would be a good start."


	7. Engaged

Disclaimer: Nope, I don't own Harry Potter or any of these characters, just borrowing them.  
Summary: Everyone gathers at the Parkinson's for a party.

A/N: Thanks to **chanteur dombre** for the beta read!

* * *

One week after Draco awoke in a cold sweat, fully aware that his feelings for Hermione were more than friendly, and two days after her session with Dr. Friedman (and her subsequent "break-up" with Alex Triblehorn), our fearless will-they-or-will-they-not duo found themselves at the palatial Parkinson estate to celebrate the engagement of Pansy Parkinson to Mitchell/Millicent Bulstrode. Initially, Pansy's parents had found her pairing with the former Ms. Bulstrode unsavoury, but eventually accepted the union. After all, "Mitchell" was a Pureblooded witch...er, wizard. 

It was a slightly overcast spring day and Pansy sat regally in the gazebo on the family grounds, surrounded by Hermione, Daphne Greengrass, Ginny and Luna Lovegood-Longbottom. The witches were "inspecting" her recently acquired engagement ring.

"Darling it's just gorgeous," said Daphne, the former Slytherin's voice dripping with undisguised envy. Hermione was tempted to offer her a handkerchief for the drool.

She had been watching, only half interested, as the witches ooh-ed and ah-ed over the obscenely large piece of jewelry that looked as if it could do some serious damage if Mitchell ever got out of line. She gazed dully at the ring, but her mind was primarily fixed on a certain blond she'd seen arrive (from a distance) about 10 minutes earlier. She had not seen him since before Mitchell spat out his brilliant lie, though he'd asked to meet her for coffee several times. Hermione had begged off, telling him she was too busy – which was sort of true – but mainly she'd been avoiding the inevitable confrontation.

Pansy was jabbering on in great detail about carat weight and other such nonsense. "And here's the best part: it was his Grandmum!" she finished dramatically.

Ginny started at that. "You mean it was passed down from Mitchell's grandmum? How romantic."

Pansy pursed her lips. "No, I mean this rock _was_ dear ol' Gran."

Daphne, who had been leaning over the stone – so close she looked like she was going to kiss it – pulled back quickly. "Ewww."

"Oh don't be so squeamish," she scolded. "I think the symbolism is beautiful. 'Circle of Life' and all that shite."

That pulled Hermione out of her thoughts. "Did you just make a Muggle reference?"

Pansy looked at her wisely. "Yes I did, Granger. And you of all people should appreciate this ring. It represents transformation. Life goes on and nothing is static in this world. Even people change."

"Shite happens?" she queried.

"Something like that."

"Just be careful," said Luna, ominously. "You can get a nasty bout of Inherijestitus from transfigured dead relatives."

* * *

While Hermione and Pansy pondered the meaning of life and all its implications, Draco, Ron, Harry, Crabbe, Goyle and Neville were having a heated debate in the Parkinson's study.

"Well I think we need to have a stag party for him and get absolutely plastered," said Goyle.

"But," Neville stammered, "what if he wants a hen party?"

"Maybe we should combine them?" offered Draco.

"Are there any trans-gender strip clubs?" wondered Ron.

Goyle made a retching noise, but Crabbe had a faraway look on his face. The sad sack had been crazy about Millicent since second year at Hogwarts and, to his horror and confusion; her now-masculine form did not deter the infatuation.

Draco snapped his fingers. "I know, we'll give Pansy the stag party and the little witches can take care of Millicent. My gold's on Parkinson being the one who really has balls in that relationship – operation or no."

"I really could have lived without that image, Malfoy." Harry shuddered.

At that moment Mitchell strolled into the room. "Why are you tossers hiding in here?" he asked. "There are dishy birds about." He looked pointedly at Draco, adding, "I even spotted a lioness that needed taming."

Draco let out a tiny (but very distinguished) yelp and chastised himself for telling Mitchell about the dream in a moment of weakness. He'd been pissed, but still.

The others had started to make their way out of the room and Draco was following behind when Mitchell grabbed him by the elbow and pulled him aside. "I've got news, handsome."

Draco's curiosity was momentarily held up by his annoyance. "Please don't flirt with me. I could barely stand it when you were a woman."

Mitchell made a fake pouty face. "Be a good lad or I won't tell you what a little birdie told me."

He gritted his teeth. "What?"

"Granger and Triblehorny are officially done. Kaput. Finito. Over."

Draco didn't even try to hide the light that turned on inside at the words. However, quick on its heels was a sense of paralysing fear. He would never admit this to anyone, but Draco was – and had always been – intimidated by Hermione. Even when he considered her well beneath him, she'd vexed him; the fact that he was now besotted with the witch made it much worse.

His emotions must have been uncharacteristically all over his face because Mitchell gave him a comforting pat on the shoulder. "Aw, is Drakey-poo scared of the bushy-haired Gryffindor?"

Draco shoved him away, swiftly regaining his composure. "Bugger off! Are you daft? Why would I be afraid of Granger?"

Mitchell ignored his protest. "Malfoy, I know a strong woman when I see one – hell, I used to be one. If you're not on your toes with Granger you're a bloody fool." Draco looked like he wanted to say something, but Mitchell brushed him off and continued. "Now, you were the worst kind of impotent gutless snivelling little prick when we were younger, but by some kind of miracle you've turned into a rather decent bloke. And you better be thankful – on your knees praising the gods or whoever watches over your skinny arse – that someone like Granger recognizes it. And you sure as hell better not fuck that up."

Draco just stared at him for a moment, gobsmacked by the ferocity of his little speech. While it had been riddled with insults, there was one thing that stood out: Granger recognizes it. Rather than feigning indifference, he dropped the mask. "Are you saying I've really got a chance to fuck it up? You've talked to her?"

He tried to hold it in, but Mitchell couldn't stop himself from grinning. "Yes you do. Now go get her, lion tamer!"

"Mitchell, if you were still a woman I'd kiss you." And with that he rushed out of the room.

* * *

Hermione sat alone in the gazebo, continuing to sift through her confused thoughts. Pansy and the others had headed into the house, but she'd opted to stay outside. The wind had picked up slightly and Hermione's perfectly coiffed up-do was now in grievous danger of coming undone. She should go inside, she kept telling herself. But her feet would not catch up to her brain and she remained fixed on one of the small benches.

Draco approached quietly, unseen by Hermione. As he drew nearer he could see that she was leaning back slightly on her palms and her eyes were shut. He crept up the steps, whatever tiny sounds he made obscured by the whirling wind. Hermione had an unreadable expression on her face. Her cheeks were flushed and her hair was coming loose all over the place, as if she'd just gone on a broom ride. She was wearing a rather simple peach-coloured strapless Muggle sundress, her creamy skin flatteringly displayed. Draco just stood watching her for a long moment. She looked positively ravishing, far lovelier than his dreamed image of her. He wasn't the impulsive romantic type, yet he felt a strong urge to rush to her, drop to his knees and praise her beauty to the heavens above.

So, naturally, he insulted her. "Granger, you'd better get inside or that ridiculous nest of yours is going to start attracting the wildlife."

Hermione's eyes shot open and she jolted upright. Draco was standing about a meter away, looking down at her. He was wearing immaculate charcoal grey dress robes and his white-blond hair was blowing in the breeze. Rather then making him look unkempt, the effect was to make him look like some goddamned image off the cover of a heaving-bosom novel. She growled in frustration and her anger was echoed by the sound of thunder in the distance. "Judging by your appearance, I'd say the blimey little fuckers have already arrived." She knew it was a weak comeback, but it was all she could muster.

But what she didn't realize was Draco hadn't heard the words, because her growl of exasperation had brought to mind his dream, which in turn made his hidden feelings come rushing to the surface. "Granger, I..."

She stood quickly, making to get back to the house. Before it was easy to just spar back and forth because it didn't mean anything. Now things were different. It meant everything to her and it was overwhelming.

Draco's hand shot out and grabbed her wrist before she could escape down the steps and away from him. "Wait."

It was just one word, but somehow it managed to be question, answer and prayer all wrapped up in a neat little package. Hermione heard all of this and looked up at him. She took a shaky breath. "What do you want?"

"I..." he began, pulling her back toward the bench. "We need to talk."

Hermione was lost in the mists of his eyes for a moment, but then glanced at the house. In the large window facing the gazebo she could see figures watching. She looked back at Draco. "Not here."

There was another rumble of thunder, this time closer. Draco nodded in agreement. "Okay. Where do you want to go?"

"I have my car here; I'm supposed to meet my mum later. We could go for a drive," she suggested.

Draco gave a little nervous smile. He hated having to travel the Muggle way, but at that moment he would have gone piggyback on a Blast-Ended Skrewt with Hermione. "Okay. Let's go."

* * *

Inside, several sets of eyes watched as Hermione and Draco left the gazebo and walked away from the house toward the street.

"Do you think one of us should follow them, just in case?" asked Ron.

Harry, who had a goofy grin on his face and his arm around Ginny, shook his head. "Not unless you want to get hexed."

"Besides, there's no need," said Mitchell. "I put a magical surveillance bug on Malfoy."

"You cheeky tart!" cried Pansy. "Merlin, I love your blooming arse."


	8. Cramped Spaces

Disclaimer: Nope, I don't own Harry Potter or any of these characters.  
Summary: Draco and Hermione go for a drive.

A/N: Thanks to **chanteur dombre** for the beta read!

* * *

The skies had opened up by the time Draco and Hermione made it to her car. Neither spoke as she pulled out onto the road. They were both out of breath from running to avoid the brunt of the downpour. 

Draco studied her closely as she focused on the road. Her hair was in complete shambles at this point – most of it falling down her shoulders and wet wisps clinging to her face. She shivered slightly from the cold – or something else.

"Are you just going to stare at me?" she asked, breaking the silence.

"I can't help it," he replied honestly.

His confession caused her to accelerate too quickly, nearly rear-ending another vehicle before she slammed on the brakes. She threw her arm out in front of him, an instinctive and somewhat motherly gesture as they lurched to a halt.

"Bloody hell, Granger, I'd like to at least have a good snog _before_ you kill us both!"

She looked at him with a wide-eyed expression – shock, fear and desire all jockeying to be at the front of her emotional queue. Her arm was still lying protectively across him. She abruptly went to pull it back, but he grabbed her at the elbow and started to lean toward her...

BEEP!

They both sprang back.

"Fuck! I'm going to have a bloody heart attack," groaned Draco.

Hermione was crimson with embarrassment as she started to drive again. The operator of the vehicle behind her screamed a colourful assortment of obscenities and continued to beep his horn.

Draco, unfamiliar with road rage, pulled out his wand and made to turn around in his seat.

"No!" She put her arm in front of him again. "That was my fault. We'll just find someplace where I can pull over." She removed her arm and brought her attention back to the road.

* * *

_Meanwhile, back at the Parkinson estate…_

BEEP!

Ron jumped up spastically in the air as the deafening blare of the car horn shattered the eavesdropping silence of the Parkinson's study.

"What in bloody fucking hell was that?" he exclaimed, the look of horror on his face not unlike the kind inspired by his eight-legged friends.

Pansy, Ginny and Mitchell didn't look much better. Harry – who had experience with loud car horns (and loudness in general, thanks to the Dursley's) – had recovered more quickly from the noise and was in fits of laughter. The five of them sat around a small glowing orb that emitted the sounds coming from Hermione's car.

"I can't believe Hermione can drive Muggle transport and still be afraid of flying a broom. She's mental," said Ron.

Pansy nodded in agreement. "Forget Granger, I can't believe Draco is subjecting himself to this. He must really fancy her."

"Took them both long enough to figure it out," said Mitchell.

"Will you people shut it," said an annoyed Ginny. "Hermione said something about pulling over."

They all got quiet and listened in again, but the next few minutes they heard nothing but the sounds of driving and low breathing.

"They're awfully quiet, you think they're shagging?" wondered Ron.

"Ha! Not unless they can do it silently while driving," said Harry. "Hold up, it sounds like she turned off the engine."

"Wha..." started Ron, but the other four cut him off with a quick "Shhh!"

* * *

Hermione had driven into a car park that was nearly empty. The rain was coming down steadily outside.

Draco looked around, his expression a mixture of wariness and curiosity. "Where are we?"

"It's a Muggle shopping centre. Sort of like Diagon Alley for Muggles, except they drive here," she explained.

She had parked in a far corner of the lot, but there were still Muggles around, coming and going. "It isn't very private."

"Right." She took out her wand and performed disillusionment, Muggle-repelling and silencing charms. She shifted in her seat to face Draco. "Now we have privacy."

_"That's what you think," said Mitchell with a devilish grin, back at the ranch._

Draco swallowed nervously. "So, I, um, heard you broke up with Triblehorn."

She looked down at the gears between them, unable to look him in the eye. "Yes, well, I did. Sort of..."

Draco didn't hide the worry (or anger, he would kill Bulstrode if he was wrong) from his voice. "What do you mean, 'sort of'? You either broke up or you didn't."

She lifted her hands to her face and then said very quickly, "I didn't have to break up with him because we were never a couple."

"What! You were just shagging him?"

"No!" she screamed. "Of course not."

He looked at her incredulously. "Are you taking the piss? What in Merlin's name is going on?"

Hermione looked up at him sheepishly. "I sort of just let you think Alex and I were together."

"_You_ lied to _me_?"

"I'm really sorry." She reached out hesitantly and put her hand on his. "I know it was completely insane. Not to mention immature."

_"And effective," said Ginny._

Draco looked down at her small hand. He reached down and cradled it between his larger hands. He was caressing it, very slowly. He lifted his eyes to hers. "Why?"

She was so entranced by his touch that it took Hermione a moment to realize he'd asked another question. "I'm sorry?"

"Why did you lie?" He was still holding her hand, moving his fingers up her wrist and forearm.

Hermione abandoned any thought of creating a cover story. She felt stripped by the look in his grey eyes. "Because of the way you looked at me when you thought I was with Alex. Like you regretted it." She added shyly, "Like you're looking at me now."

"I see." He didn't break the eye contact, but pulled her closer to him, moving her fingers so they were a breath's distance from his lips. Her gaze didn't waver. "You're shaking," he said, and then very gently kissed her fingertips.

"So are you." Rather clumsily – but in an endearing way – she pulled her hand away, leaned forward and placed her lips tentatively against his.

The kiss was short, sweet and heartbreakingly innocent. Hermione pulled back slightly and Draco muttered a soft, "Mmmm." Then he urgently moved his right hand into her messy, wet curls, pulling her mouth back to his forcefully. He tried to circle her slim waist with his left arm, but as he leaned forward he lost his balance, smashing his elbow into the steering wheel – and the horn.

BEEP!

The sound (and the pain that shot through his arm) ended their brief horny-teenager snog. "Fuck!" he yelled out.

* * *

"Bugger!" exclaimed Ron. He was sprawled out on the floor, having fallen out of his chair after the second loud beep.

Pansy had developed a bad case of the hiccups from laughing so hard. "Oh Merlin…hic…they are so bloody…hic…sad." She was also on the floor in a rather unladylike position.

Ginny shook her head in disbelief, "I thought Malfoy was more of a smoothie than this."

"Slytherin sex god my _arse_," snorted Mitchell.

That made Pansy collapse in a fresh round of giggles. When she'd (sort of) contained herself again she spoke (or tried to). "Yeah he only had that reputation…hic…from fucking…'Huffhuffpuff', ahhh," and proceeded to clutch herself on the floor in a display of humorous abandonment.

"Shhhhh!" said Ginny, who seemed to be the only one of the group worthy of spy duty. "I think they're snogging again!"

* * *

Hermione didn't know if she should feel frustrated or humiliated. She looked at Draco, red in the face, angry and achingly attractive with his smooth blond hair and bedroom (and not just because they were a bit bloodshot) eyes. Something about his expression, the way he was both flustered and alluring was so…funny. She couldn't contain a nervous, somewhat breathless giggle.

He shot her a scathing look. "Let me just say for the record that you will never, _ever_ get me in this bloody Muggle contraption again."

The delicate thread which held together her composure snapped with his words and indignant expression and she lost it.

"What's so bloody amusing?" He blazed, but the anger was evaporating from his voice.

She couldn't speak because she was laughing so hard and tears were streaming down her face.

"Fine. I'll teach you to mock me, wench!" He grabbed her by the arms and pulled her out of the driver's seat and onto his lap.

"Ahhh!" she yelped, but was promptly shut up as he pulled her lips down to his and renewed his manic exploration. Her mouth opened to his with a gasp and the kiss deepened. She was on her knees now, straddling his lap on the car seat, her dress riding up her thighs and her hands against his delectable chest. She was completely out of sorts between the laughter and the lust and had to pull back from him. "Draco..."

"You said my name." He smiled, leaning in to plant a whisper of a kiss in the hollow of her neck, "I must be dreaming."

"Perhaps this is a dream," she said playfully. "Where's your whip?"

Draco lifted his head up from the cradle of her neck. He looked abashed. "That tranny shite is a dead man."

She leaned forward, resting her forehead against his. "Don't be mad at Mitchell. We probably wouldn't be here right now if it wasn't for him."

He laughed, "You mean cramped up in your bloody uncomfortable Muggle torture chamber, snogging like a couple of Hogwarts students in a broom cupboard?"

"The broom cupboards at Hogwarts are far more comfortable."

He gave her a stunned look. "Miss Granger! Are you telling me that you, the swotty know-it-all, are actually familiar with the Hogwarts broom cupboards? Please tell me you were working on spells or brewing some potion to keep Potter out of trouble."

_"Yeah right, and I'm Harry-fucking-Potter," snickered Ron._

Hermione looked around suspiciously, "Did you just hear something?"

_"Oh bugger!" _

"Shite, what's wrong with that thing!"

"Quiet!"

Draco and Hermione were looking at each other as cold awareness settled on them. "They wouldn't," she said.

"Those blimey fuckers," he said.

_"We are so dead."_

"Hold still," she pulled out her wand and cast a revealing charm. A buzzing noise erupted in the car and then Hermione noticed something was glowing on the back of Draco's shirt, near his shoulder. She gingerly grabbed what looked like a speck of dust and handed it to him.

His eyes were on fire with rage as he spoke into the device, "Listen up you nosy pieces of excrement, you better find a good rock to hide under because me and my _girlfriend_ are coming after you." And with that he crushed the bug.

Hermione looked at him in giddy shock. "Did you mean that?"

"Yes, I'm seriously going to hex their sorry arses so hard they'll wish they were born Muggles."

"That's not what I meant and you know it."

He leaned in and rubbed his pointy (but oh-so-elegant) nose against hers. "You mean the part about you being my girlfriend?"

"Well, yes," she said anxiously.

"If you're willing to give an arsehole like me a chance," he moved back so that he could look in her eyes again.

Hermione crumbled at the unexpected look of vulnerability in his eyes. She wanted to tell him that she wished for nothing more than to be his, to just melt right there in the moment. But she was at a loss for words.

"Granger…Hermione," he paused. "Merlin, that sounds weird."

She smiled, urging him on with her eyes.

"Listen I know you'll find this difficult to believe, but I'm not perfect," he started. "Don't laugh!"

"I'm sorry, go on," she said, trying to keep a straight face.

"I've known you most of my life and for a good part of that I didn't like you. Hell, I didn't think you deserved to breathe the same air as me." He sighed deeply, remembering the pain of the past. "And now, honestly, everything is so different. It all got turned upside down and I don't know at this point if I deserve _you."_

"Malfoy, that's…"

He put a finger to her lips. "No, let me finish." He moved his hand down, gently running his fingers along her jawline. "The thing is, even though the world has shown my father to be wrong over and over again, it's still a lot for me to overcome. I still have a lot of anger. Not toward you," he clarified. "But toward the entire bloody world. None of this – the amazingly brilliant or the worst of the worst – is what I ever expected it to be. And what really scares me is that you'll be with me and make me incredibly happy…but then one day you'll wake up and realize that I'm still the same obnoxious prat from school. Because that's who I really am."

"I know," she said. "And I'm still the bushy-haired know-it-all."

He moved his hand to play with one of her curls. "That's true."

"I think maybe we were just too foolish or proud or something to recognize that this would be right," she said. "I mean, who else can put me in my place but a slimy little git."

"I am not slimy!"

She laughed. "And only an annoying know-it-all like myself can deal with someone as blatantly obnoxious as you."

"Ah, whisper sweet nothings to me, darling," he drawled, then moved his lips against hers, just barely grazing them.

Hermione smiled slyly against him. "By the way, it's not 'me and my girlfriend', it's 'my girlfriend and I'."

"Mercy," he said, sliding his tongue along her bottom lip. "Who knew grammar could be so _stimulating_."

She collapsed against him, aggressively transforming the embrace from light experimental touches to seductive exploration, his body hard yet pliant against hers. She moved her hands down his sides, bracing herself as his tongue flicked erotically with hers. After a few more moments of oral sparring (of a much more provocative nature then they were used to), she pushed back again, much to his displeasure.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing, everything is perfect," she said. "Well, except my leg is asleep, I have to go meet my mum soon and we have to plot bloody revenge against our closest friends."

The End

**A/N: While this is the "official" end of this story, I have written 12 chapters of "Viva Revenge" which picks up the revenge plot. It is a bit out there and includes a bit of a triangle...though it will be Draco/Hermione in the end. Anyway, thanks for reading this. Please review and provide feedback. Thanks!**


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